


The Detective and the Vigilante

by crewdlydrawn



Series: The Officer and the Gentleman [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Cop!John, Driving, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, M/M, Police, Sexual Roleplay, less so in this one but still present, nonlinear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn
Summary: Some people find out secrets about their boyfriends, some people--like John Blake--already know their boyfriend's secrets, and are just waiting for the right time to show it.





	The Detective and the Vigilante

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewaynecondition](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaynecondition/gifts).



John’s coffee had gone cold over an hour earlier, but he still sipped at it, figuring that, at the very least, he’d get the rest of the caffeine into his system.  Night shifts were difficult, on general principle.  If they were busy, they were full of chasing criminal activity and then following it up with hours of paperwork.  If they were slow, like that particular night, they took more perseverance than John tended to have available or on reserve.  Hence the coffee.  Black, no embellishments beyond some extra sugar to make sure he stayed alert—for the moment, anyway.  He was all too familiar with the crash that inevitably followed those types of shifts.

Bruce had already taken to admonishing him for his ‘unhealthy habits’.

> “How many cups does that make?”  Though the words were spoken from almost directly behind his ear, John didn’t startle, having heard the approach.
> 
> “Today, or here?” he searched for clarification, shaking sugar from a glass dispenser in the penthouse kitchen.  It was a more than ample sized room, at least half the size of John’s entire apartment, and though most of its space remained a mystery to John—and, he suspected, to Bruce, as well—he’d acquainted himself well with every piece of equipment and speck of storage space that got coffee into his hands.  The only important parts.
> 
> “Here,” Bruce touched his arm lightly to warn him before taking a sip from the freshly-stirred brew, “but a total number would be a wise count, as well.”
> 
> Frowning, carefully plucking the mug back into his own possession, John took a solid swallow before answering, just in case.  “Including this one, I’ve had three since I’ve been here.”
> 
> “And in total?”
> 
> Stepping back, John took another drink, feigning a thoughtful expression, as if he were counting, to buy himself some time.  At last, after as much time as he figured he could get away with, he spoke up, “Eight.”
> 
> “ _John._ ”  Bruce’s voice was chiding, and John rolled his eyes, taking a drink before the cup could be taken again.  “No more coffee, today.”
> 
> John made a face, his nose wrinkling.  “Rude.”  Maneuvering out of the kitchen, he flung a ‘fine’ over his shoulder.
> 
> “From here, _or_ from a shop,” Bruce added as he followed him.
> 
> Sitting on a wide, worn, leather ottoman in the main living room, John tugged on his shoes, looping the laces between his fingers.  “Ugh.  Fine.”
> 
> “ _OR_ your apartment.”
> 
> “Bruce.”  Standing, he slipped on his coat.
> 
> “Or the station!” called out as John walked across the room away from Bruce.
> 
> “That’s uncalled for.”
> 
> “Not ‘til next shift.”
> 
> “ _Fine_ ,” John sighed, pressing the elevator call button.
> 
> “Or off the street!”
> 
> “…They don’t sell coffee just _out on the street_ , Bruce.”  John added a flourish of his hand as if to indicate the street-side.
> 
> “They could.”
> 
> Watching the lighted numbers approach his, John’s voice was near sing-song.  “But they don’t.”
> 
> “But they _could_.”
> 
> “Maybe.”  The elevator doors opened, and John stepped inside the car, turning to press the lobby’s button.  “But they don’t.”
> 
> Bruce leaned in, having followed him to the seam of the floor tracks, bracing his hands on the frame of the doors to keep them from closing.  With John’s attention caught, he kissed him soundly.  Patting the doors and letting go, Bruce stepped back.  An index finger rose to point, accompanying stern brows.  “No coffee.”
> 
> As the doors closed with a faux bell ding, John rolled his eyes again.  “Yeah, yeah.”

Shaking the cup in a circular swirl, John hoped as many of the dregs as possible worked themselves into the last of the liquid.  With a frown at the taste as well as the lack of success, he downed the rest and found himself grateful that Ross wasn’t in the car with him that night.  Being pathetic was much less embarrassing when no one was around to witness it.  And at least he was the only one around aware of his quasi-promise to limit his intake.

_“All units, we have a 4-8-7 in progress.  Suspects fleeing the scene south on Grand below Market.  Be advised, suspects are mobile, spotted on motorcycles, and are to be considered armed and dangerous.  All available units, please respond.”_

Well, at least he’d finished his coffee, already.

Grabbing up the radio mic with one hand, he started his cruiser with the other.  “This is unit two-seventeen, on my way west to intercept,” he called out over the waves, lighting up the roof and switching the siren on as he pulled into traffic.  Other officers responded over the speaker, several closer to the location than he was, but he was out on the street already.  Speeding into a straightaway beneath the upper street level, the clunky gear shaft of the department vehicle reminded him, with no small regret for limited city funding, how much easier catching up with his targets would have been in one of Bruce’s cars.

> “Okay, so, ease your foot onto the clutch, and—”
> 
> “Bruce,” John spoke up, smoothly shifting the Ferrari into gear and starting them out of the garage onto the dirt road, “I know how to drive stick.”  A smile ticked into his cheek at the chuckle from the passenger seat.  “They teach us how to drive, too, at the Academy, you know.”
> 
> Bruce’s hands rose into the air in mock defeat, silent at least until they were on the main roads. 
> 
> On his own, Bruce spent time inside the large mansion by necessity, but the first few times John visited, they didn’t stay inside long.  After the very first visit, of course.
> 
> His first trip to Wayne Manor had been nothing if not surreal.  Though he’d been out of the city before, a few times, even close to the Palisades once, he had never been close enough to glimpse the mansion itself, nor personally travel its long, winding, dirt-and-gravel private drive.  If he had had the means, he would have driven himself, but the cost of a taxi seemed unnecessary when he had a willing pick-up just a phone call away.
> 
> So he drove over with Bruce, in a relatively less-flashy Mercedes, finding himself incapable of stifling the gasp that rushed into his lungs at the sight of the palatial stone building.  Bruce, for his part, didn’t laugh, though he did pat John’s knee in what could only be interpreted as a placating manner.  Jerk. 
> 
> Inside, his reaction was much the same.  Eyes wide, his steps echoing in the high-ceilinged entry room, John took in the sweeping staircases, tall stone walls, arched doorways—so many doorways—and long, straight, wood-floored hallways.
> 
> “Well, fuck.”  Eloquence and nerves didn’t tend to mix, for John.
> 
> The outburst only earned him a solid kiss, interrupted by the clearing of a throat off to the side of the entryway.
> 
> “I believe at least a casual introduction is due, Master Bruce.”
> 
> Turning, Bruce’s hands still bracketing his waist, John smiled as the older man stepped into their space.  “Mr. Pennyworth, right?”
> 
> “ _Alfred_ , please, sir.”
> 
> “ _John_ , then,” he grinned, disengaging from Bruce to clasp Alfred’s hand in his own.  “It’s good to finally meet you; Bruce has told me so much about you.”
> 
> “Likewise,” smiled the reply.  Handshake turned to a hand on his shoulder, pulling him farther away from Bruce.  “And I think it’s time I had a turn, don’t you?”  With an exaggerated wink aimed past John, Alfred started towards a smaller arched hallway, guiding John to follow him.  “We’ll be back with tea.”  A shooing motion sent Bruce on his reluctant way. 
> 
> To Bruce’s chagrin, John talked with Alfred for nearly thirty minutes before he finally set to finishing the tray of tea he’d promised.  Despite what Alfred allowed Bruce to assume, they hadn’t even really talked about _him_ , but rather about John, what he did, what sort of things were important to him.  John hadn’t known what exactly to expect when meeting a person’s butler-turned-caregiver-turned-family-friend, but he was just as Bruce had described—kind eyes, ready smile, and a scolding glint to complement his light presence.  He wasn’t Bruce’s blood, but John knew well enough that family wasn’t always dictated by the blood in one’s veins, and it didn’t take John long to see the imprint he’d left on Bruce by raising him.
> 
> It was in only the first few trips to the manor that Bruce had suggested John take out one of the cars for a drive.  While he’d given John the option of which car to pick, the Ferrari had been the obvious choice, if only due to the smile that seeing it brought to John’s face when Bruce leaned against its chassis again.  Bruce had clearly expected to teach John how to handle the vehicle—and John had left his shoulder sliding into the window through the back-road curves and turns.
> 
> “Okay, okay,” Bruce laughed, bracing a hand against the door frame, “so they clearly taught you how to drive.”  John grinned, triumphant, and Bruce continued.  “But,” he paused, rebalancing himself on the seat, reaching to slide his hand over the top of John’s thigh, “did they teach you how to drive while _distracted_?” 
> 
> Slowing to a stop at an intersection, knowing the fresh red would give him upwards of thirty seconds before he’d need his attention attuned again to the road, John turned his head.  Keeping his hand lightly resting on the gear stick, he sent an exaggerated glance down at Bruce’s hand.  “What kind of distracted?”
> 
> With cars flanking them on either side, behind, and a busy street ahead, Bruce’s hand shifted further, fingers reaching over John’s groin before pressing downward.  “ _Distracted_.”
> 
> Thirty seconds evaporated as quickly as John inhaled, but he led their line of traffic out and over the cross street as the light turned, all the same.  Carefully controlling the speed of his breath right along with the motions of shifting and steering, he at last let a confident smirk break the plane of his lips.  “I’ve been well-trained,” he replied, earning a chuckle from beside him.
> 
> Two blocks, and his belt and button had been undone.  Four, his zipper. 
> 
> Bruce was taking his time, feigning interest in the sights they passed, sights they both knew were more than familiar to both of them.  Without a fluid speed or progression, John had to steel himself for direct contact long before Bruce’s fingertips actually touched his dick.  When they finally did, John silently cursed the stutter in his foot on the clutch, barely compensating to keep from grinding the gears.  Even if he couldn’t _see_ it, and he refused to look, he could feel Bruce’s smirk growing.
> 
> “Bastard,” he tossed lightly, affectionately, to the side as he turned down another cross street.
> 
> The grip on his dick tightened momentarily, as the car turned, and John’s breathing hitched.  Eyes on the road, he bit down on his lip, now trying to balance the motions of driving with stifling the urge to rock his hips into the pulsing grasp that began to travel his length.  When a teasing thumb pad circled over the sensitive center of his cock’s head, John made a quick exit down off the main street, pulling them off of the road entirely, and stopping beneath the overpass.  Yanking the parking break into place, he shut up Bruce’s words of victory by pulling him over and covering his mouth with his own.
> 
> Bruce didn’t seem to mind the shift, returning the kiss, leaning well into John’s space in the seat, merciless fingers dancing over his shaft, teasing, pulling, squeezing, and stroking in a maddeningly unreliable rhythm.  Coupled with Bruce’s tongue spearing deeply into John’s mouth—and the built-up excitement from being touched at in the car, in the middle of the city, with the sounds of traffic all around—only a few moments passed before John was moaning into Bruce’s mouth, his breathing playing staccato beats from his nose to Bruce’s cheek, his pleasure rushing through his body and into Bruce’s hand. 
> 
> That hand still held him long enough that John had to push it away when the contact became too much for his nerves.  “Okay, alright,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against Bruce’s while waiting for his lungs to calm down, “so I deserve full credit, because I got us off the road safely, still.”
> 
> “Technically, you weren’t driving, anymore, when you came.”
> 
> “No crash, no fail.”
> 
> Shaking his head, Bruce pressed a closed-mouth kiss to John’s lips, patting his leg and sitting back properly in his seat as if nothing had transpired, his suit smoothing out beneath his hands.  “You drive a hard bargain, Detective Blake.”
> 
> Fixing up his pants and pulling back into traffic, John snorted.  “Damn straight.”

A rough downshift as he approached his exit had John making a mental note to tease Bruce about making donations, again.  The thought hardly had time to resonate in his mind, however, before he had to slam on his brakes. 

Three dark-clothed figures ran across his path, only one head turning to the screech of his tires.  Another figure shrank into the shadows across the street, but John turned his wheel hard, keeping the lights going, and restarting the siren to give a chasing _woop_ on his way after the first three. 

There was no way those runners had come from the location of the call over the radio, but enough other officers had responded to cover the station’s alert, and now there was something _else_ going on.  Only one of _him_ meant that the suspicious shadow would have to wait.  If he went after every suspicious shadow he saw in the city, he’d have to split himself in half and _still_ end up run day and night, nonstop.  It wasn’t the first shadow he’d let go, and it wouldn’t be the last.

> Before John had made detective, he’d greased the wheels by taking any and all shitty details he was made aware of.  That meant a lot of overnights, double shifts, patrols edging the Narrows, and babysitting high-society functions in the financial districts.  One such night was the first time he’d actually seen it.  All of Gotham knew _about_ their caped crusader, but actual in-person sightings—despite crackpot claims—were fewer and farther between, especially for police. 
> 
> John and his partner had been on shift for seven hours, already, and John a total of twelve that day.  Any other city besides Gotham, they could have chalked it up to exhaustion, to too-long hours, to the obscene number of ounces of coffee they’d each consumed.  Not Gotham. 
> 
> A dark silhouette _wooshing_ across a side street, a few feet above the light bar of their patrol car?  Not imagination.  Not normal. 
> 
> “Did you see that?” Ross’s voice squeaked, his head and torso tipped forward to the limits of his seat belt’s range, face aimed up into the night.
> 
> John’s right foot had already switched to the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.  “Yeah,” he deadpanned, “I saw it.”  
> 
> Turning the wheel a hard left, he stepped back on the gas, sending the car into the alleyway, following the shadow’s trajectory.  Without a lot of room between buildings, or a long road ahead, he pulled to a stop quickly, the two of them fairly leaping out either side of the doors.
> 
> “Where is it?”  With nothing having met their headlights, Ross had his eyes aimed upward, but John climbed to the top of the patrol’s roof, jumping to the bottom of a fire escape ladder, making his way up without answering. 
> 
> Metal sang beneath the strikes of his boots until he was scrambling up and over the lip of the building’s roof.  Pushing to his feet, with Ross calling after him from below, and his own heartbeat racing in his ears, John’s eyes rose just in time to see the Batman leap off of the opposite side of the rooftop, disappearing as soon as he landed on the next.

Knowing his city backwards and forwards came to his advantage as the figures he caught up with ducked down an alley, and John swung around the next block up, cutting them off on the other side.  Throwing the parking brake on, the lights still lit, he leapt from the door in time to tackle two of the figures, yelling ahead for the third to freeze.  That worked about as well as it ever did. 

A quick scuffle temporarily incapacitated the first pair, and John scrambled after the other, slamming his shoulder into the bricks of the alley’s corner.  Even a quick glance at the face smushed beneath his hold on the body confirmed his choice to follow them.  He’d been after this crew for weeks. 

“What were you running from, Chuck?”  Clicking a set of cuffs into place, he knocked the man’s knees out from under him, stepping back to catch his breath.  Looking back to the first two, his air left in a rush as a click of a hammer accompanied a pistol aimed shakily his way.  Hands slowly rising in response, he opened his mouth to talk Duke, Chuck’s longstanding follower, down from his threat, but didn’t get a chance to even say a word.

Instead, Duke was knocked forward, sprawling arms across the ground, his feet caught together in a rope that seemed to have been thrown around his ankles.  Still groaning in pain from the fall, he was quickly joined by another man, who John could only guess was the fourth shadow from earlier, given that the Batman stood over him.  Even standing there, only a few short feet away, all John could really make out was his eyes, set with black paint, framed by that suit deeper than the night around them. 

Those eyes were as familiar as he already knew they’d be.

> It was nearly pitch black inside Bruce’s bedroom, hiding any evidence of luxury and excess from John’s view, though he knew well enough they were there.  With small traces of moonlight scattering into the space from a broad set of waffle-grid windows, all he could really make out were Bruce’s eyes, not far from his own. 
> 
> “So,” John spoke up between traded kisses, his arms beneath the band of Bruce’s to settle his hands on the man’s waist, “would it be an inappropriate question to ask how often you bring men home?”  He’d thought of the question before he’d even set foot in the manor for the first time, but had waited to ask. 
> 
> Bruce hummed quietly, touching the tip of his nose to the end of John’s.  “No, I don’t know if it’s inappropriate or not, but I don’t.”
> 
> “I wondered,” John nodded.  “Alfred seemed surprised to have someone to talk to.”
> 
> Bruce laughed quietly but sincerely.  “I mean, it’s a big house, there’ve been parties…”
> 
> “Of course,” John acknowledged, fingertips sliding up under Bruce’s shirt to tease at his skin, “you’re Bruce Wayne.”
> 
> “…but no,” Bruce continued, “no bringing men home one by one.”  Only a short beat passed before he added, “What about you?”
> 
> John grinned, squeezing Bruce’s sides.  “Oh, my apartment’s way too small for parties.”  The joke earned him a quick kiss and a clearly amused shake of Bruce’s head.  “I admit, there’s been a date or two who’s come back for coffee.”
> 
> “Just coffee?”  Bruce leaned in to kiss along John’s neck, up towards his ear.
> 
> “No,” he breathed, working on keeping that rhythm even, “not just for coffee.  Mostly, though, I just don’t have _time_.”
> 
> A smile curled the lips against his earlobe.  “But you made time for me.”
> 
> Instinct had his head nodding, which he stifled to keep the touch close.  “I _did_ make time for you.”
> 
> Strong hands grabbed John’s ass, and a moan escaped before he could deliberate on stopping it.  “Lucky me,” Bruce murmured against his mouth as he walked them backwards, slowly as he hadn’t yet let go.  With another, lingering kiss, Bruce sat, pulling John with him.  Going with the momentum, John straddled Bruce’s legs, his knees and shins against the mattress.  Humming, Bruce tugged at John’s waist, pulling their bodies flush, fingers walking forward and down, returning to the swell of his ass. 
> 
> “Why, Mr. Wayne,” John teased, feigning surprise, “whatever are you going to do with _those_?”
> 
> Bruce didn’t need words to show him.  One hand kept John from even thinking of shifting backward, while the other dipped below his waist band, fingertips skittering their way over his skin with a light, varied, teasingly unpredictable pressure.  “I’m sure you can _detect_ my intentions,” Bruce joked, his smirk only stifled by John pushing him firmly backward onto the bed and occupying his mouth for several moments.  “What’s the punishment for a bad joke?”
> 
> Feigning a moment of consideration, John straightened up, making the loudest sound he could out of opening the zipper of his pants.  “We’ll need to occupy your mouth elsewhere.”

That mouth stood across from John, shaded and shadowed by the cowled mask and the unreliable light in the alley, but he knew it was there, the same as the eyes.  In fact, he’d known for some time.

Barely a moment passed before the group’s fourth, whom John had initially tackled, swung his leg out in an ill-advised attack on the Batman.  His legs were bound before his muscles could complete the arc of the motion, and in the time it took John to rush forward, the caped figure was rising from the concrete to the sound of a retracting rope.

“Hey!” John called, running forward and jumping up to haul himself onto the fire escape that rose alongside the building the Batman was effortlessly rising.  “Hey, _stop!_ ”  He knew there was no way he could catch him, not if he didn’t want to be caught, but he’d stepped in, he’d gotten involved, he’d looked _right at_ John, and he couldn’t leave it at that, not after everything they’d come to. 

The roof top couldn’t come soon enough, and that dark shadow was already at its opposite edge when John breached its plane, but it hadn’t moved on yet.  Just enough of a breeze blew across the space, sending the Batman’s cape floating out behind him.  A barely-perceptible turn had him side-facing John, stepping towards the ledge.

“Don’t you _DARE_ ,” John yelled, every scrap of scolding he could muster shoved into his voice, as if to a pet about to do something naughty.  With the figure paused, looking back at him, John marched forward towards the center of the space between them.  “Get your ass over here.”  He jabbed a pointer finger sharply in the direction of the space right in front of his feet as he stopped and waited. 

Imagination, and perhaps wishful thinking, had him seeing a smirk twitch beneath the mask, but it was too dark to really tell.  Even so, the Batman turned fully, walking steadily back towards John, his stride smooth for all of the padded armor of his suit.  Any second, he could choose to disappear into the dark.  John wasn’t about to let any seconds go by once he was within reach.

Stepping forward quickly to close the distance while the Batman was still in motion, John reached to pull at the cowled neck and shoulder before him, tugging him down and kissing him soundly.  Only a moment’s stillness in hesitation greeted him, and then his kiss was returned, gloved hands pulling John’s body roughly up against the armor.  The bottom edge of the cowl bit into John’s cheek, flattening his nose, but he didn’t mind; the discomfort was far outweighed by losing himself to the pressure at his lips, to the familiar tongue tasting his own. 

There had never been any doubt in his mind about who the Batman was, not once he’d met Bruce in person, and he’d dreamed of this kiss for months, already.  Part of him—most of him—didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to let go or step back, but he knew it couldn’t last forever.  Staying within his hold, John pulled his head back, fingers loosened to travel the line of his shoulder, the edge of the cape, and down over the raised symbol at his chest. 

“You’re a hard man to pin down.”

A twitch absolutely ran over his mouth, that time.  “Pin me down, I’ll be harder, Detective.”  There was gravel to his voice, a growl, a disguise, but John knew it all the same, and a grin split into his cheeks at the tease. 

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, setting his boots apart.  The Batman made no move to change his stance, to retreat or to move John away.  Even so, the silence he stood with answered John’s question all the same.  “So.  How long have you been following me around?”  He stared up into the twin shadows of the cowl, expectantly.

“Who says I’m following you?”

John’s eyes rolled to the side, and he fiddled with the etched silhouette on his chest.  “You can’t expect a guy to receive a gift-wrapped perp and not think he’s being followed just a _little_ , you know?” 

“When did you know?”

“When—Ah.”  The conversation had moved beyond the immediate.  “Well, before I pulled you over that day.”

It wasn’t visible, but the tone had John imagining Bruce’s eyebrow rising into his forehead.  “Be _fore_?”

A smile settled over John’s mouth.  “You came to St. Swithin’s once… some girl on your arm.  I was still living there, then.  I saw you, all of you.”

“You didn’t see _all_ of me until several years later,” the gravelly voice deadpanned. 

John couldn’t help a chuckle bubbling out.  “Like _that_ , yeah, I mean…”  Tracing the symbol again, his thoughts combined a bit of the past with the present.  “I mean… I saw _you_.”

For several heartbeats, the only sound between them was the intermittent _fwip_ of the cape in the breeze.  Strong fingers dug into his hips, the cowl tilting as his gaze dropped slowly.  “I want to see _you_.”

“Alright,” John spoke through a grin, “but I’ve got work waiting for me in that alley, so.”  He turned only to indicate the fire escape he’d climbed up, and he felt movement, leading him to grab armored arms quickly.  “Nuh-uh.  I’ve heard how you disappear on people, and it’s _rude_ ,” he admonished.  Letting go only with one hand to check his watch, he tapped his pointer finger against the firm armor of the suit’s chest.  “Give me three hours, and I’ll meet you back up here.  Deal?”

In lieu of an actual reply, John was pulled roughly into another firm kiss, the smirk still dimpling his cheeks as he watched the flutter of the man’s cape send him into the night.

Cleanup in the alley took more time than he’d anticipated, half of it spent simply waiting for backup to show up with enough backseat room to haul everyone down to the station.  His shift had been over at 3:00am, but it was nearly 4:00 as he changed back into street clothes and left his squad car in the garage.  Distance between the station and the crime scene meant two subway exchanges, and a total of over four hours since he’d left the rooftop until he made it back.

He was tired, but the hope and thought of what was waiting for him surged fire through his veins, strengthening his muscles as they pulled him up the fire escape.  Excitement aside, he was still out of breath upon cresting the wall, and his heart nearly sank when at first he saw no movement, no silhouette blocking the ever-glowing city lights around the building’s view.  After all, he _was_ late, and it certainly wasn’t as if the Batman had no other obligations than to meet his alter ego’s boyfriend on a rooftop in the middle of the night.  John chided himself for assuming a nighttime tryst took precedence over the sort of happenings that kept a vigilante up and out in the dark.  He’d see Bruce in the morning, or later that day, after they’d both gotten some sleep—maybe that was better, even.

Footsteps caught John’s attention, his shoulders already twisting to aim his body back toward the ladder.  He knew the Bat could be soundless, and that it meant the steps were for his ears, a reassurance.  Disappointment transformed quickly.  Turning his body, he set his hands on his hips in maximum sternness.  “Where have you been?”

No words came from the shadow, but the pointed cowl tilted, and John grinned.  Marching forward, he stretched out his arms, palms pressed to armor, pushing the Batman backward until his caped back met the scaffold structure around the building’s antenna.  Outside of special equipment, he and Bruce were similar enough in build, but as he pressed against gritty concrete with the balls of his feet, he recognized more clearly than earlier in the night that the Batman’s boots lent him greater height.  No matter, he met the man’s mouth again all the same, his cheek creased again, this time further for the strain.  He paid better attention this time, to the subtle differences between kissing Bruce and kissing his mask.  The differences were subtle, but thrilling. 

Control felt as if it were his, right up until gloved hands grabbed his waist, turning their bodies, keeping his mouth covered and close.  Covered and close even while John was lifted by the waist, carried several steps away from the scaffold, and sat down on a low wall closer to the access door.  Contact broken due to the change in position, John leaned back casually.

“Have something in mind, or just want me to freeze my ass off on cold concrete?”  His answer came in a surprisingly dexterous flick of the Batman’s gloved hand—disconnecting the button to John’s pants and drawing down his zipper. 

“I almost wish you hadn’t changed,” the gravel in his voice sent amused dimples into John’s cheeks, “but,” rough material struck sensitive skin, and John hissed as his dick was maneuvered into cool night air, “this will be better without a gun in your holster.”

No time to form a question regarding the specifics of ‘this’, John watched with wide eyes as the cowled head lowered, padded knees bracing below where he sat, and the only bit of exposed skin on the night-shrouded body descended towards his cock to swallow it down. 

“ _Fuck!_ ”

No admonition came in response to the language, only the heat of the mouth engulfing his shaft, the slick slide of its tongue, the pressure of rough gloves pinning John’s thighs in place, apart, and out of the way of cape-draped shoulders.  It was like a dream, a fantasy, one John was unashamed to admit—at least to himself—that he had had many times before. 

Eyes that usually tried to close the moment he was touched remained wide, taking in as much of the view as the night and a costume in the way could allow him.  That costume was half of what was sending John over his edge, anyway, and he daringly settled a hand against the side of the cowl, fingers brushing over the pointed ‘ear’ as he went.  Shivers ran up through his hand, his arm, and into the rest of his frame.  It wasn’t a dream, it was real, and the Batman was sucking him off on a rooftop.

Between the intensity of the idea, the image, and Bruce’s talented mouth, John barely got out a garbled warning before he released, fingernails catching on uneven concrete on one side, a fistful of cape on the other.  A tight grip on his thighs kept his shivers in place, but caused him to squirm, much to his chagrin.

To make it worse, when that masked face pulled up and away, following a slow flick of his tongue over slick lips, it wore a smirk that shone all the way to grease-paint shrouded eyes.  It was hiding, shadowed, but John knew the hazel color was there, waiting for daylight or the manor’s softer lamps to properly return. 

“That was…” his voice failed to cooperate, and he only grinned, instead.  With a quick, protective set of motions to put his dick away and close his pants back up, a realization dawned.  “Damn… there’s literally no way for me to repay that favor while you’re in that suit, is there.”

“No,” the heavy voice confirmed.  A tick of his lips into his cheeks followed.  “I hadn’t seen a need for that sort of… modification.”

“Well _fix_ that,” John ordered, his tone insistent as he hopped down to stand in front of him.  “In the meantime,” using both hands to be sure the grip was successful, John drew him down for a firm kiss, one he was reluctant to let go of, despite his intended question.  “Where can I meet you, to finish what we started?”

Hesitation met him first, textured fingers tracing the frame of John’s jaw.  At last, the still-growled voice spoke close to his ear. 

“Southeast of the Manor, in the forest, there’s a waterfall…”


End file.
